“Are you Japanese?”

“Are you Japanese?”  I have been asked this very same question – and the even more controversial variation, “Well aren’t you Japanese?” – numerous times by complete strangers from every walk of life here in Paris.   Strangely, the same exact dialogue follows this question:  I would respond that I am in fact American only to have the stranger impatiently dismiss my response and persistently continue, “Yes, but of what origin (read:  ethnicity)?” “Erm, my family is Chinese,” I would respond hesitantly, and judging by the brightened expression on the stranger’s face, this is clearly the response that he wanted, expected, or both.  “Ah, so then you are Chinese!” the stranger would respond with a tone of finality as if to preempt any proof of the contrary, even if I were to fish out my navy blue passport embossed with the Great Seal of the United States to prove that I am indeed American.

The first emotion that this exchange provoked had been surprise – not only because a complete stranger had posed such a blunt question but also because there would always be a complete lack of embarrassment or apology from the stranger’s part even after discovering that he had assumed incorrectly.  The French approach to ethnic identity stands in such a sharp relief to the American approach, in which ethnicity remains a very personal topic and assumptions on someone’s ethnic identity would not only be impolite and offensive but could also be very much considered racist.

Frustration accompanied the surprise:  long accustomed to having my responses accepted as a reflection of my opinion, I was certainly chagrined by the dismissal of my claim to be American and by the insistent follow-up question on my ethnicity, as if the asker had attempted to mold me according to his perceptions of what an American or a Chinese person should be.  Born and raised in the States, I am equally proud of being an American as I am of my cultural ties to Chinese traditions.  Confronted by strangers who consistently try to reduce and/or ignore such an enormously important part of who I am, I have never been more aware of how fortunate I am to be a part of two very different cultures and of the deep extent that this duality has shaped my personal identity.

Nevertheless, I believe that it would be a mistake to simply write off these incidents as examples of French racism.  Rather, these incidents offer interesting insight into how French people regard the question of “French identity,” a topic which reflects the realities of a changing French society, as it faces cultural influences of Francophone African immigrant communities.

I find especially interesting the French word, origine, which can be translated literally as “origin” or as “root,” “source,” and even “parentage.”  A person’s origine transcends legal definitions; for example, being a legal citizen of France may not necessary make you inherently “French,” just as being an American citizen does not suffice to qualify me as “American” in the eyes of the French.  Rather, “origine” seems to search for the very essence of a person’s identity, seeking to determine the factors that affect someone on the absolute most personal level.  Before experiencing first-hand the effects of such a different perception of self-identity, I have always simply considered myself Chinese-American, following the American tendency of being as politically correct as possible, without having ever given much thought as to why I consider myself as such, as well as how it is justified.  “Are you Japanese?” Such a small question has never caused me to reflect so much on my own personal identity:  is it possible that I am essentially more attached to one culture than another?